


Masters and Pets - Deadlock/Drift

by HiddenDirector



Series: Masters and Pets [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Collars, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Pet, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Romance, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenDirector/pseuds/HiddenDirector
Summary: In an alternate version of Cybertron, a new system of justice has been implemented to prevent the tenuous peace between the Autobots and Decepticons from breaking.Drift is a former Decepticon pet who by law belongs to Ratchet, while his claims that he was framed for his crimes are being investigated.  Ratchet's greatest hope is that proving Drift's innocence will cause the Pet System to come into question, and eventually end.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic starts after the sixth chapter of Pets and Masters - Hot Rod/Rodimus. While you don't necessarily need to read that one to understand what's happening, I do recommend it. Like all entries in this series, the stories are going to intertwine with each other, each telling someone else's part of it. I will work hard to keep this from becoming confusing by making each entry able to stand on it's own.
> 
> Warning - The beginning of this chapter contains a mildly graphic depiction of rape. Dream rape, but rape nonetheless.

The nightmares always started the same way.

Drift stood in an empty blackness, alone and paranoid.  He turned slowly, tensed for what he knew was coming.  He didn’t know if he truly expected himself to be able to stop it.  But there had to be a way.

_There._

Movement in the corner of his optic caused Drift to turn and strike out.  There was nothing there, though.  From behind him, there was laughter, and a collar was snapped around his neck before he could stop it.  He choked and pulled at it, but it was secured tightly.  Too tightly.  He could barely vent properly.

“Don’t try to fight it, Deadlock.”  He knew that voice.  He never wanted to hear it again.  Turmoil, his former ‘master.’

Hands came out of the darkness, grabbing at Drift and pulling him to the ground, holding him there.  Touching him everywhere.  He panicked as they clawed at his thighs and interface array, thrashing.  But he wasn’t strong enough to get away from them.  He never was.

“Be a good little pet, Deadlock.”

“Let me go!” Drift demanded as the hands grasped his legs and spread them.  His valve panel seemed to open of its own accord, servos dipping inside of him.  He let out a strangled sob.  He didn’t want this.  He _never_ wanted this.  “Please, stop!”

“This is all you’re good for, Deadlock,” Turmoil’s voice continued to taunt him as he was violated by the phantom hands he couldn’t break free from.  “Fragging and violence.  It’s all anyone will ever want you for.  But not just anyone can have you.”

Drift’s hydraulics ran cold as the object of his torment materialized over him.  Turmoil’s faceplate was so close it was all Drift could focus on.  “No…” he whispered, vocals shaking.  “Not again… please… I’ll do anything, just... please, not again…”

“That’s right, my pet,” Turmoil said coldly, spike lining up with Drift’s unwilling valve.  “You’ll do _anything_ I tell you.  Because you belong to _me_.”

“No!  Please, don’t- AAAGH!!” Drift screamed as he was violated by the huge, black Decepticon.  Pain, humiliation, helplessness.  He could feel it all as his valve was viciously raped by his master.

 

\---

 

“Drift!  Wake up!”

“ _No!_ ” Drift shot up in his berth, lashing out.  His hand impacted someone’s faceplate, and the white and red former Decepticon scrambled back after the successful assault until his backstrut impacted the wall.  “Don’t touch me!” he pleaded, wrapping his arms around himself and shaking.

Ratchet rubbed his abused olfactory sensor, making sure it wasn’t broken.  It was still intact luckily, and he moved forward cautiously.  He didn’t get into Drift’s space as the younger mech continued to vent unevenly in his panic.  “Drift, calm down!” he called, putting his hands up without touching him as a sign of peace.  “It’s me!  It’s Ratchet.”

Drift onlined an optic, glancing at the medic.  His shaking calmed to shivering after a moment, and he finally began to unravel himself.  His other optic onlined as well and he reset them a couple of times before finally looking concerned.  “Ratchet!” he vented in sharply, moving forward on his berth when he realized what he’d done.  “I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear!”

“I know, kid,” Ratchet assured him, rubbing his olfactory sensor one more time.  “Pit of a right hook you’ve got there, though.”

“Ah, Primus, I’m so sorry…” Drift muttered again, covering his faceplate with a hand in embarrassment.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” the medic said.  He then reset his vocals.  “You might want to… close up.”

Drift looked at him in confusion for a moment before looking down.  His interface panels were both wide open.  He closed them quickly, his other hand joining the first one on his face.

“Look, I’m gonna go get us some fuel.  You look like you could use some,” Ratchet said awkwardly.  He wasn’t good with this kind of stuff.  He knew Drift needed him right now, and he was doing his best.  Optimus had told him he convinced Megatron to send him everything on Drift’s case that got him stuck with the collar around his neck.  Meanwhile, the red and white medic gave the young mech a place to stay where he would be treated like a Cybertronian instead of a mechanimal.

Ratchet was one of the ones who refused to participate in this circus.  He always swore that he didn’t care who wronged him for what reason, he would never keep a pet.  He’d rather appeal for them to spend their sentence in a prison cell.  What Optimus Prime had agreed to with Megatron to keep the peace… it wasn’t right.  It was inhumane.  _Humiliating_.

Drift was different.  He wasn’t Ratchet’s pet, even though that was what the paperwork said.  He refused to treat the white and red mech as one.  Especially with how he’d been treated by Turmoil.  Drift didn’t talk about it past saying he was mistreated, but Ratchet had all of his medical files.  The extent of the damage Drift endured, mentally and physically, at Turmoil’s servos was sickening.  It was no wonder he ran away after they separated them.  Honestly, Ratchet was surprised he even trusted the medic.

Maybe that was thanks to Wing.  Wherever that pretentious spawn of a glitch had run off to.  There was no denying that the fifty meta-cycles he spent with the Circle of Light member had done well for him, though he still hadn’t told them _how_ they’d ended up together.  Drift had come a long way towards recovery, being taught spiritualism and meditation to help keep him from falling to the memories.  Ratchet thought that was all a load of scrap and what Drift really needed was some sessions with the psychologist Rung, but he couldn’t force him into anything.  That would be counterproductive to his recovery.

Drift joined him in the kitchen after a while, sitting down at the counter and quietly accepting the energon offered to him.  The way he sat, guarded and withdrawn, wasn’t unusual after his nightmares.  He didn’t look at Ratchet, simply staring at the floor as he refueled.

The body language of an obedient pet.

“I have to go into the clinic,” Ratchet announced, finishing off his own cube.  He turned and put it in the sink.  “You want me to get you anything before I come back?”

“No, thank you,” Drift said automatically.

“You sure?” Ratchet asked again.  He knew that if he dropped it, then Drift would as well.  But he didn’t want to drop it.  Even if Drift wouldn’t see Rung, Ratchet had been talking to the psychologist about him.  He’d told him to offer things twice.  Drift had been conditioned for over two centuries to be seen and not heard.  To not want or expect anything.  The second time he was asked was to give him time to remember that he wasn’t in that situation anymore.  “I don’t mind picking you something up.”

There was a pause this time, and Drift finally looked up at him.  “Some polish would be nice,” he finally requested.  “I’m almost out.”

“You’ve got plenty in the wash rack,” the red and white medic pointed out.

“Not for my armor,” Drift elaborated.

It took Ratchet a moment to realize what he meant.  He then exvented.  “Right, for those blasted swords.  Fine, I’ll take care of it.  The shop owner’s going to start asking questions about why I need so much weapon polish, though.”

“You could tell them the truth,” Drift replied.  His body language started relaxing as he was finally focusing more completely on something other than the trauma of his dreams.  “It’s not illegal for a pet to own weapons as long as they’re sanctioned by their master.”

“I’ve told you, don’t call me your master,” Ratchet scolded, passing by him at the counter.  He needed to leave before he was late getting to work.  “You’re not my pet.”

“The law and this collar both beg to differ,” Drift muttered, standing up and following.  He fingered the bright red collar he bore on his neck.

“Frag the law, and frag the collar,” Ratchet replied testily, stopping at the door.  Despite his words, Drift couldn’t go further than that without a leash according to those same laws.  The poor former Decepticon thus rarely left the house anymore.  “Anyway, I gotta go.  Don’t break anything while I’m gone.  I’ll try to be back as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Ma-” Drift caught himself, looking embarrassed.  “I mean, Ratchet.  I won’t.”

Ratchet softened, reaching out and running red servos across Drift’s grey faceplate.  “It’s okay, kid.  You’re getting there.  I’ll see you when I get home.”

Drift just nodded, watching as the medic left, closing the door behind him.

 

\---

 

A cycle later, Drift sat in the living area of Ratchet’s small home.  It wasn’t the most spacious house, but that was okay with the two of them.  Ratchet wasn’t the type to throw away his shanix on such things, and Drift didn’t need much to be happy.

These mega-cycles the young mech was happy just being somewhere he wasn’t treated like a criminal or a possession.  He’d gotten that with Wing as well, but that was during a transition period.

He, as Deadlock, had just escaped the Decepticons after his treatment at the hands of Turmoil.  They had been planning on transferring his custody to another Decepticon, but he wasn’t going to let them.  He wouldn’t risk being placed with someone as bad or, Primus help him, _worse_ than Turmoil had been.  He was being kept at the clinic at the time.  No guards, simply a door and several medics that had other patients to look after between him and the door.  They didn’t expect to be given trouble since he had a tracking chip in his neck.

They likely hadn’t expected one of the medics to approach him with a deal.  He would help Deadlock out of there if he sent out a message on an emergency channel.  The frequency wasn’t one he recognized, but he wasn’t going to question something if it got him off of that planet.  So he agreed.  The medic, who introduced himself as Osteotome, got to work surgically removing the chip from inside of Deadlock’s neck.  He then attached a leash to Deadlock’s collar and simply walked him out of the building and to the spaceport.  A pet on a leash with his master wasn’t an unusual sight in Decepticon territory, so no one suspected a thing.

Osteotome put him on a small ship, one that wasn’t usually used for transporting people.  It was a delivery ship with two employees who never said a single word to him during the flight to… Deadlock hadn’t even been told that.  And he never made it that far, either.  He was given free use of the comm station on the ship, which he used to contact the frequency he’d been given.  He actually wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say when it reached the other end, wasn’t told.  So he simply told the mech who answered it that Osteotome had given him the frequency in exchange for his freedom.

Less than three cycles later they met up with a ship.  That was when he met Wing.

The Circle of light member took him onboard and shot them straight home to Crystal City.  He explained that Osteotome had been a member of the Circle of Light, but he had stayed behind on Cybertron.  He joined the Decepticons to keep his optic out for anyone who needed help, and he certainly found one.  The thing was that the Circle hadn’t heard from Osteotome in so long they weren’t even sure if he was still alive.  Having him actually send someone by calling Wing’s emergency frequency had been a surprise.

Deadlock found refuge in the Circle of Light.  Mechs who followed the old traditions, ones who worshipped Primus and his unending light.  Ones who saw how wrong the pet system was as soon as he explained what had happened on Cybertron.  They allowed him to stay there and recover under Wing’s watchful and patient optics.

Drift jumped as a loud beeping sound came from Ratchet’s comm station.  He sat a moment, unsure of what to do.  Should he answer it?  Was he allowed?

After the third round of beeping, Drift finally stood up and made his way over to the station.  His servo hovered over the answer button for a moment before he pressed it.

The face staring back at him on the screen shocked him.

Megatron.

The tyrant looked just as surprised to see him, as he stopped whatever greeting he was going to give.  He then reset his vocals.  “Hello, Drift,” he said.

The white and red pet didn’t answer, staring at the floor.  His servos twitched as he tried to keep hold of himself.  Megatron wasn’t the one who hurt him.  But he implemented the system that did.  He sentenced Deadlock to his fate at Turmoil’s servos.  Drift remembered begging the silver ruler to listen to him, that there’d been a mistake.  He didn’t do anything _wrong_.

When no answer came, Megatron reset his vocals again.  This time it was in awkwardness.  “Right, then.  Will you please tell Ratchet to call me at this frequency at his earliest convenience?  There is something I must discuss with him.”

“Yes, Mas-” Drift caught himself, going rigid.  He swallowed and said shakily, “I will.”  He pressed the button to end the call with that short response.  He stood there a moment staring at the same space on the floor, chassis beginning to shake.

Megatron hadn’t been his owner.  But the way he spoke, even with that polite request, was so commanding.  The response had slipped out without thought.  It occasionally happened with Ratchet, too.  It had _all the time_ with Wing when he first had entered the Circle of Light.

Drift concentrated on Wing’s vocals before he could lose control of himself.

_“You don’t belong to anyone, Drift.  Despite what they will tell you, you didn’t belong to Turmoil either.  No matter what the law said, you are a person.  We are all equal under the guiding light of Primus.”_

The young mech vented slowly, backing away from the comm station.  He shouldn’t have answered it.  He was a guest in this house.  He had no right to answer it.  He’d give the message to Ratchet and apologize when he got home.

For now, Drift needed to return to his meditation.  He needed to put himself back into a place of peace.

 

\---

 

“Drift?  I’m back!” Ratchet called as he walked back into his home after work.  He’d stopped as he said he would to get some more weapon polish for Drift’s swords.  He wanted Drift to ask him for more things.  He wanted the younger mech to feel _comfortable_ here until he was granted his actual freedom.

There was no response and Ratchet walked into the living area.  As he thought, there was Drift, doing his sword exercises.  The red and white medic found himself entranced with the twists and bends Drift’s chassis did as each movement flowed fluidly.  From one swipe to the next, every arc of his swords through the air.  It was hard to remember at times when he wasn’t watching him like this that the polite and quiet young mech was a former soldier.  Deadly and precise in his swordsmanship taught to him by the Circle of Light, just as proficient with a rifle because of his position in the Decepticons before that.

Drift turned and brought the swords down swiftly, then stopped as he spotted Ratchet.  “Oh, Ratchet!” he said in surprise.  He sheathed his swords at his hips and then bowed low.  “Welcome home.”

“Thanks,” Ratchet chuckled, holding up the bag.  “Good timing to have those swords ready, because here’s your polish.”

“Ah, I don’t need to do that right now,” Drift said sheepishly, unhooking the swords and their sheaths from his hips and placing them to the side.  “But thank you.”

“That’s alright,” the medic nodded, placing the bag on a shelf nearby.  “It’ll be here for when you need it.  Anything happen while I was away?”

Drift shook his helm at first, but then stopped.  “Oh, you got a call.  I, uh… I answered it since you weren’t home.  I’m sorry if that overstepped,” he said, helm lowered.

“You probably shouldn’t answer my comm while I’m gone, but it’s okay,” Ratchet assured him.  He didn’t want Drift to think he was in trouble for that little thing.  “Who was it?”

The white and red mech hesitated a moment before answering softly, “Megatron.”

Ratchet went rigid, afraid to ask what had been said over that conversation.  Still, he cautioned, “What did he have to say?”

“Not much,” Drift admitted.  “He just wanted me to ask you to call him back.  Why was the Lord of the Decepticons calling you, anyway?”

“Optimus asked him to retrieve the files for your case,” Ratchet explained.  He didn’t want Drift to think something was happening behind his back.  “He’s going to send them over so we can have a look at them.  Optimus says Megatron doesn’t trust our police force with them.”

“But he trusts us?” Drift asked in surprise.  “I mean, he doesn’t think that I’d try and change them or something?”

“It’s not that easy to change official government documents, kid,” the medic huffed.  “They’re going to be energy signature protected, just like the pet collars.  Only someone official can change them.  That’s why they don’t want to send them to our law enforcers.  They’d have the authority to do it.”

Drift nodded in understanding, looking back up at Ratchet a moment.  “I…” he started.  After a moment, he exvented, though.  “Never mind.  You should probably go call him back.”

“I should,” Ratchet agreed, standing there a klik longer.  He then moved to do exactly that.

It was something that happened between them every once in a while.  Despite Ratchet’s insistence that Drift didn’t belong to him, there was still this awkwardness that lingered because it left the question of exactly what that made them.  The collar and official papers argued against his stubborn insistence that Drift wasn’t his property, and Drift’s instincts made it hard to ignore.  But again, that left the question of what exactly Drift was.  Roommate wasn’t right.  Patient sounded good, but it wasn’t true.

Pharma teased them when he was over at one point and called him his secret conjux endura, but that was just how Pharma was.

Ratchet shook the thoughts from his helm and arrived at his comm station, dialing in the frequency Optimus had given him for Megatron’s office.  After a bit of waiting, Megatron’s face appeared on the screen.  “Hello, Ratchet,” he greeted neutrally.

“Megatron,” Ratchet returned.  He didn’t particularly want to be talking to the tyrant any more than Megatron likely wanted in return.

“I’m glad you called back at such expedience.  I wanted to let you know that I have the case files you asked for.”

“Good, send them at any time,” the medic nodded.

After a moment’s hesitation, Megatron corrected, “Actually, I was hoping I can bring them to you personally.”

Ratchet’s optics widened in surprise, though he tried to keep his expression neutral.  He didn’t know what he was playing at so he couldn’t take any chances.  “Why?” he asked.

“Mostly because I want to assure they reach you myself.  I don’t know what could happen between here and there, quite honestly.  I find myself not trusting many these days, not even among my own men,” Megatron answered.  Ratchet was surprised by his honesty.  “Also… well, I am afraid my pet doesn’t get out much lately.  I offered for him to come along to meet Drift if that is acceptable.  He was rather excited by the idea.”

If Megatron’s honesty about not trusting his own men had surprised Ratchet, the revelation that he wanted to bring his pet along blew him away.  It was no secret that Ratchet despised the Pet System.  “Drift isn’t my pet, Megatron,” he said warningly.  “This isn’t some… playdate for people we slapped collars on.  I’m trying to clear a falsely accused mech of crimes that led him to become traumatized.”

“I know,” Megatron didn’t react much, simply nodding.  “If you don’t feel comfortable with me bringing Rodimus, then I understand.  He will be disappointed, but I’m sure we can find something else to amuse him with.”

Ratchet exvented heavily.  Using a pet’s emotions against him.  That was a cheap shot.  Still… Ratchet thought to Drift and how few people he’d seen since he was brought here.  It would be nice for him to spend time with someone else.  “Fine, you can drop the files off.  And you can even bring Rodimus along.”

“Excellent.  Thank you,” Megatron nodded again, smiling ever so slightly.  “I will be over tomorrow at around 8 cycles.”

“Understood.”  Ratchet cut the call, considering what he just agreed to.  How was Drift going to handle this news?  Only one way to find out.

The medic headed back to the living area, hearing the television on.  Drift was sitting in front of it, watching the news.

“Optimus Prime has released a press statement that Carcer still hasn’t been located, though they are spreading the search,” the reporter announced.  “At this time he continues to ask that all citizens, whether Cybertronian or Colonial, please use caution while traveling through open space.  In other news, outrage continues to spark over the recent People Not Pets movement as the extreme anti-pet group has attacked yet another pet owner.  We have been asked to withhold the names out of respect for the victims, but we can confirm that while he and his pet were both severely injured in the attack, they are both expected to make full recoveries.”

“Idiots,” Ratchet scoffed, leaning on the back of the sofa Drift relaxed on.  “I hate this system, too.  But they’re not doing anything actually helpful.  Especially if they’re hurting the people they’re trying to help in the process.  What are they thinking?”

“Sometimes people don’t know how else to respond to things but through violence,” Drift answered, looking back at him.

“That a Circle of Light thing?” Ratchet teased him.

“No,” the younger mech said solemnly, turning his attention back to the TV.  “It’s a Decepticon thing.”

Ratchet exvented, shaking his helm.  Sometimes it was hard to remember that this damaged young mech had been a Decepticon less than a century ago.  “I need to tell you right now, Megatron is coming here tomorrow.”

Drift tensed, servos clenching at the warning.  After a moment he said, “I should probably stay out of sight, then.”

“Actually…” Ratchet rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of how to word this.  “He’s bringing Rodimus, his pet.  Rodimus really wants to meet you, and apparently, Megatron promised him he could.”

“Rodimus?” Drift echoed.  “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Name threw me off, too,” Ratchet chuckled.  “I heard Megatron picked up Hot Rod as a pet from an unfortunate bit of gambling, though.  Must’ve got a name change in the meantime.”

“Hot Rod… I feel like I know that one,” Drift said thoughtfully, turning the TV off.  “I think a couple of the guys mentioned him during the war.”

“He was a real troublemaker for the Decepticons back then,” Ratchet confirmed.  “Had his own small rebel army to protect his home.  He’s had a lot of trouble acclimating to post-war.  A lot of people have.  Before he got sentenced to be Megatron’s pet, I gave him some free checkups.  I couldn’t do much else without being paid, as much as I would’ve loved to.  But most of his greatest needs are too expensive for me to be doing for free.  Besides, if I started giving him free upgrades, there wouldn’t be a reason I couldn’t do it for all the rest of the poor, down-and-out folks left over after the war.  I’d drive myself into debt.”

“This post-war… really sucks,” Drift said, unable to find a peaceful way of saying it.

Ratchet actually laughed a bit.  “You got that right, kid.  I feel especially bad for Rodimus, though.  I can’t imagine it’s easy being Megatron’s pet.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron and Rodimus visit Ratchet and Drift. Rodimus is... nothing like Drift expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I put this as only being one chapter when I posted it. Sorry for any confusion that may have caused!
> 
> Anyway, this chapter happens parallel to Hot Rod/Rodimus chapter 7.

Drift woke the next mega-cycle, optics focusing slowly.  No nightmares this time.  No dreams at all.  Was this a good omen or a bad one?  He didn’t feel as uneasy as he usually did in the morning.

The white and red mech pushed himself out of the berth and stretched, looking out the window.  The sky was orange as the sun began to rise.  Ratchet would already be up getting ready for work.  Drift made his way to the kitchen, spotting the medic pouring himself his morning fuel.

One of the skills Drift picked up during his stay with Wing was seeing the auras of those around him.  The common misconception was that auras had colors.  The truth was much more complicated than that.  Auras couldn’t be described in such simple, physical terms.

Wing’s aura had been radiant.  Strong, but calm.  It made Drift feel safe for the first time since Turmoil.  Ratchet had an aura that was tight and guarded.  It often reminded Drift that he was a stranger in his home if still a guest.

This morning, Ratchet’s aura was even more tense than usual.  As if he was anticipating something.

“Good morning, Ratchet,” the former Decepticon greeted, walking in and sitting down.

“Morning, Drift,” the medic replied, pouring a second glass and putting it in front of him.  “Recharge well?”

“Very,” the pet said cheerfully.  “Leaving for work soon?”

Ratchet looked at him strangely, raising an optic ridge.  “I’m not going into work this mega-cycle,” he answered slowly as if Drift should’ve known this.

“Really?” Drift asked, picking up his glass and raising it to his lips.  “Why-?”  He stopped, and his optics widened in realization.  “Oh…” he vented.

“Yeah, that,” Ratchet muttered, downing his own fuel quickly.

Drift had forgotten that this was the mega-cycle when Megatron and his pet were coming over.  He stared at his cube, CPU reeling.  “I don’t… I’m not sure if I’ll be able to handle being around another pet, honestly.  Someone scared and probably…”  He didn’t want to say abused.  He had too many bad memories of his own.

_“A pet should be seen and not heard!  I’ll teach you to speak out of turn!”_

The white and red pet’s servos tightened on his glass, trying to drive the voice out of his helm.  He couldn’t think of that, not now.

Not ever again.

“This was a bad idea,” Ratchet exvented, running a hand over his faceplate.  “I’ll just call Megatron while there’s still time and-”

“No!” Drift shouted, shooting out of his seat and stopping him.  When Ratchet looked at him in surprise, he turned his optics down to the counter, sitting back down.  His conditioning at Turmoil’s servos told him to sit down, shut up, and beg forgiveness later.  He knew Ratchet wasn’t Turmoil, but it was hard to fight that kind of training.  When Ratchet simply waited for him to explain, he finally managed, “I need to do this.  Maybe… I don’t know… if he _is_ scared or hurt, maybe I can help him.  I don’t want to ignore someone that could be hurting just because it makes me… uncomfortable.”

Ratchet watched him a little longer before nodding.  “If that’s what you want, then we’ll let him come over.  But if there’s any time while he’s here that you need a break or for him to go home, you just tell me.  I don’t want you to force yourself to do something that’s going to hurt you.”

Drift managed to smile again, trying to look reassuring.  “I’ll be okay, I promise.  You’ve got your business with Megatron.”

Ratchet looked ready to say something else, but he stopped himself and instead settled on, “If you say so.”

Drift nodded and finished his energon, handing the empty glass back to the medic.  He then stood up and retreated to the living area.  He sat down in front of the television and turned it on.  The news greeted him as usual.  He didn’t like to escape through fiction like most people.  He wanted to stay aware of what was happening on Cybertron.

“In a surprising turn of events, Velocitron has announced their first official All-Pet Racing Tournament,” the pleasant femme newscaster reported as she smiled at the camera.  “Pets from both Cybertron and Velocitron are invited to participate, with an array of prizes.  They have revealed prize baskets from several designer manufacturers of pet-related products as minor ones so far.  The major prizes, including the grand prize, have yet to be announced.  High profile masters and their pets have stepped forward to announce their intentions of entering the tournament.  The most talked about of all of them is aerodynamic specialist Knock Out and his recently acquired pet, Blurr.  Blurr was acquired through the before now unprecedented means of betting his own freedom on his ability to win his first race on Velocitron.  Since then, however, it has become the newest trend on Velocitron to bet internment time as a pet.”

Drift exvented and shook his helm.  He didn’t understand why anyone would _want_ to be a pet.  A life of being treated as property instead of as a Cybertronian.

“Anyone planning on attending the races is warned to use caution, as threats from the People Not Pets movement have already started.  It is predicted that protests will be held at the very least, if not more violent demonstrations.  Velocitronian leader Override has assured everyone that security will be doubled for the event for this reason.  In other news, Decepticon Second-in-Command Starscream has been temporarily let go-”

The sound of Ratchet coming into the room caused Drift to mute the news, turning to him.  “Velocitron is holding pet races now,” he said.

“Of course they are,” the medic scoffed.  “Those people are slaves to their infatuation with fads.  They can’t even tell what’s a corrupt law or the next fashionable trend.”

“They’re willingly giving up their own freedom like it’s a game,” the pet vented softly, touching the red collar around his neck.

“At least they’re doing it willingly,” Ratchet said, walking over and sitting next to him.  “Why don’t you watch something more cheerful than this?”

“Fantasy isn’t something I indulge in,” Drift answered quietly.  “I can’t lose my grip on reality, or I feel like I’ll forget why I am where I am.”

Ratchet actually snorted.  “Sorry, but talking about reality?  That’s funny coming from someone who keeps talking to me about Circle of Light teachings.”

Drift frowned.  “It’s not funny.  Primus and his teachings are very serious matters.  Spirituality and enlightenment are extremely noble goals.”

“Kid, if Primus was watching us right now, why wouldn’t he have stopped what happened to you?”

Drift flinched, looking at the floor.  It was a valid question, and one he asked Wing constantly when he was first brought to the Circle.

 _“Drift,”_ he always replied in his soothing, mesmerizing voice, _“Primus puts us through trials sometimes.  They’re never easy, and they’re rarely pleasant.  But they happen for a reason.  He’s trying to guide you somewhere, and you will only know where that is when you arrive.”_

The former Decepticon had thought that the Circle was where He was guiding him.  That he was meant to be there to learn His secrets, achieve enlightenment.  And to be with… with…

_“The only aura no one can see is their own.  Did you know that, Drift?  I wish you could see yours.  In spite of everything you’ve been through, your aura is beautiful.”_

Drift wondered where Wing was now.  Was he back at the Circle?  Did he find some other wayward, lost soul to save?

“I’m sorry.”  Ratchet’s vocals snapped the pet out of his thoughts.  “That was uncalled for.  I should get ready for Megatron to arrive.”

“That’s… I mean…” Drift started but found himself unable to finish.  He couldn’t say it was okay, because what Ratchet had said… _wasn’t_.  They had a lot of banter about Drift’s spirituality and Ratchet’s lack thereof.  It was one of the few things that made Drift feel… normal.  But that had been a low blow.

“Go ahead and do whatever you do to get to your happy place,” Ratchet said, ignoring Drift’s stumbling attempts to speak.  He picked up the remote to the still muted TV and turned it off.  “That means no more news.  You’ve got enough problems without absorbing everyone else’s.”

“Yes, Ratchet,” Drift said quietly, not looking at him.  He watched Ratchet leave this time and stood up himself.  Ratchet was right; he needed to get into his ‘happy place.’

So Drift sat on the floor, crossed his legs under him, and cleared his mind.

 

\---

 

Drift had been floating between the realms of awake and oblivion when Ratchet’s vocals once again interrupted him.

“Drift!”

The white and red mech immediately onlined his optics, looking to where he’d been called from.  He realized that Ratchet wasn’t alone.  Megatron was standing next to him.

“Oh, sorry!” he cried out in surprise, standing quickly.  He bowed deeply, both out of respect and the fact that looking at Megatron made his spark pulse so hard he thought it would explode.  “I guess I was a little deeper into meditation than I thought I was.  Welcome.”

Silence followed as he stared at the floor, making him feel increasingly uncomfortable.  What were they thinking?  Was Ratchet going to scold him for being too formal?  For using the Circle’s foreign customs?  Perhaps he should just straighten back up instead of embarrassing himself-

“Hey.”

Drift reset his optics in surprise at the faceplate that suddenly appeared under his.  Another young mech was kneeling underneath his bow, his white faceplate smiling brightly at him.

“I’m Rodimus.  I’ll take it you’re Drift, then.”

“Yeah, I…” Drift found himself speechless as they stared at each other.  He finally snapped out of it, straightening quickly.  “I mean, it’s nice to meet you,” he swiftly corrected himself.

“You too,” Rodimus replied, standing back up himself.  He was almost completely red, with orange details and a golden crest and spoiler.  Said spoiler fluttered excitedly, something Drift had only ever seen flier wings do before.  But… no, this young mech wasn’t a flier.

The introduction suddenly registered with Drift, and he realized that this was the pet he was supposed to entertain.  He’d expected a frightened, withdrawn young ‘bot.  But Rodimus was nothing but smiles.  Drift searched his aura for any sign that he was hiding himself.  Trying to be brave around his master.  But… what he found caused the white and red mech to return the smile without even thinking.  Rodimus had no hint of fear, nor abuse or neglect.  His aura was like nothing he’d ever seen before.

Rodimus’s aura shined like the sun.

“Alright, I’m leaving Rodimus in your care, Drift,” Ratchet’s vocals cut through Drift’s thoughts.  “If he needs help with anything, you’re in charge.  Got it?”

“Yeah, no problem, Ratchet,” Drift managed, though he found he couldn’t look away from the red and orange mech before him.

“Be good, Rodimus,” Megatron added.

“Yes, Master,” Rodimus replied, finally breaking optic-contact with his fellow pet.  He turned to the Decepticon ruler.

As the medic and tyrant walked off, leaving them alone, Drift found his spark pulsing again at the sound of what Rodimus had called him.  _Master_.

_“From now on, I am not Turmoil to you.  I am Master.  Do I make myself clear?”_

Drift shook his helm, clearing the voice from his CPU again.

“Are you okay?” Rodimus asked, tilting his helm and leaning forward.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Drift said quickly, trying to cover his own distress.  He’d expected to be comforting a traumatized young pet, not the other way around.  Then again, Rodimus wasn’t anything he’d expected.

“Good,” Rodimus’s grin spread, turning away from Drift and looking around.  “Nice place you guys have,” he said casually.  “It’s… homey.”

“It’s Ratchet’s place, not mine,” the white and red mech corrected.  “I’m just a guest here until we can clear up…”  He trailed off, not wanting to burden this bright, cheerful mech with his problems.  “Until my internment is over,” he settled on.

“Ratchet said you’re not a pet,” Rodimus said, walking a slow circle around the room and looking at things.  “How’d you end up with one of the most anti of anti-pet people I’ve ever met?”

Drift considered answering, but it was uncomfortable for him to even talk about with professionals like Ratchet.  He refused to even see Rung.  He didn’t want to break down in front of his guest.  “It’s… a long sto-”

That was as much as he got out before Rodimus’s optics fell on something on one of the shelves, cutting him off.  “Oh, cool!” he exclaimed, spoiler fluttering again and running over to it.  He picked up one of Drift’s sheathed swords.  “Are these real?” he asked.

Drift exvented in relief, thankful that Rodimus seemed to have a short attention span for things that weren’t interesting to him.  “Yes, please be careful with them,” he said, walking over.  He took the sword from Rodimus and unsheathed it slowly.  “I received these from the Circle of Light.  They’re extremely symbolic to our beliefs.”

“Whoa…” Rodimus vented in awe.  “Can I hold it?” he asked.

The white and red mech looked at it, then him.  The pet standing before him looked so hopeful, he couldn’t say no.  There was something… special about Rodimus.  Magnetic.  “Alright, but only if you let me show you how to hold it properly,” he finally said.

“Sweet!” Rodimus jumped a bit in place, holding his hand out.

“First of all, none of that if you’re going to be holding this,” Drift scolded.  “This is a weapon, not a toy.”  He heard Wing’s vocals echo along with his own as he said it.

“Right, okay,” Rodimus nodded, holding still but with his hand still out.

“Second, you need to promise me that you will follow every one of my instructions while you’re holding it.  I don’t want Megatron or Ratchet to kill me because you accidentally severed something.”

“Alright, do what you say, sure.”

“You don’t sound like you mean it,” Drift teased, holding the sword away from him.

“I mean it, I promise!” Rodimus all but whined, holding his hand out.  “I promise, no playing, and I’ll do everything you say!”

“Good, then here,” Drift turned the sword around and held it hilt-out towards Rodimus.  The red and orange mech took it and held it with surprising carefulness for his impatience.  “The first rule with a sword is much the same with a gun,” he instructed.  “Don’t swing it at anything you do not intend to kill.  Until you’ve been properly trained, there’s no guarantee that any swing of that sword won’t kill your target.”

“Right,” Rodimus nodded, looking totally serious for the first time since he arrived.

“Now, you’re going to need to learn proper form if you want to hold it,” Drift continued, stepping behind Rodimus and putting his hands on the other pet’s.  He moved them until they were properly gripping the hilt.  “Always hold it tight enough that you never lose control, but loose enough that you can adjust for changes in your enemies’ strikes and positions.”

Rodimus didn’t reply this time, simply nodding.

“Okay, now you’re going to want to stand with your legs…”

“Further apart, got it,” Rodimus finished for him, adjusting his stance.

Drift was surprised.  He was about to question why he knew what to do, but he remembered Ratchet saying Rodimus had led a rebellion before the truce.  He was already a fighter.  That also explained why he went completely serious so quickly.  It was quite a drastic change in such a short amount of time.  “Alright, we’re going to start with a vertical strike,” he said, gripping Rodimus’s arms and bringing them up over his helm.  He bent them at the elbows until the back of the blade was nearly touching Drift’s own helm.  “Now, bring it down as quickly as you can.”

Rodimus did as he was instructed, striking swiftly.  Like most beginners, he bent at the hips when he did so.

“That was good, but you need to keep your posture completely straight when you strike,” Drift informed him.

“Yes, Mas-”  Rodimus stopped what he was saying, faceplate flushing.  “I… I mean Drift.”

Drift reset his vocals awkwardly, not saying anything.

That was apparently enough for Rodimus to start explaining.  “Master’s been training me in hand-to-hand combat.  I think this is reminding me a bit too much of that.”

“He’s teaching you to fight?” Drift asked in surprise.

“Yeah, Master’s been doing a lot of things for me.  He got me my new upgraded frame, he buys me lots of gifts, he’s teaching me to fight…” Rodimus ticked off on one of his hands while the other gripped the sword.  “He even changed my name to sound more like a Prime’s, cause he wants to help me do that.  Become a Prime, I mean.”

“Wow,” Drift said, dumbfounded.  He honestly didn’t think a Decepticon, let alone Megatron of all people, could treat his pets that… well.  “If you don’t mind me asking… why do you call him Master?”

“Because he’s my Master,” Rodimus said as if it were obvious.  “I mean, he told me to, but I don’t think he would’ve made me do it if I didn’t want to.  I was kinda weirded out by it at first, but… I _like_ thinking of him as my Master.”

The white and red mech was stunned.  There were people out there who _liked_ being pets?

As if sensing his dilemma, Rodimus resumed his stance.  “I wasn’t done with my lesson.”

“Right, sorry,” Drift snapped out of it, grateful for the subject change.  He turned Rodimus’s wrists until they were diagonal.  “The best angle against a larger enemy is here.  A swift blow like this is harder for them to block.”

Rodimus was tensing to try it when the resetting of a vocal at the door caught their attention.  “Master!” he exclaimed, picking up the sheath and sliding the sword into it.

Drift couldn’t tell what Megatron was thinking, though Ratchet’s raised optic ridge spoke volumes.  He was confused until he realized what they walked in looking at.  Drift had to be pressed flush against Rodimus’s back to teach him.  Oh, Primus, he hoped they didn’t think…

“Thanks for the lesson,” Rodimus’s vocals brought him back to the moment.  Drift looked at the other pet, who was holding out the sheathed sword.  “We should continue next time.”  That bright smile that had returned faltered a bit as he looked at his master.  “There… _will_ be a next time, right?” he asked.

Megatron looked from him to Drift, his faceplate still unnervingly unreadable.  He surprised the white and red mech by gesturing to him.  “If Drift would like it.”

Drift was completely caught off-guard, returning his gaze to the pet before him.  When he received a hopeful smile, he shook his helm a bit in surprise.  “Oh!  Yes, I would love for you to come back.  You’re…”  Drift couldn’t decide what he wanted to say, instead remembering, “I mean, it’s Ratchet’s house, so…”

All optics turned to Ratchet, who looked between them then huffed.  “Well, after all that I can’t really say _no_ , can I?”  Despite how annoyed he sounded, Drift could tell that something had changed while he was talking to Megatron.  His aura was less tense than before.

That smile that could rival the sun returned to Rodimus’s faceplate as he jumped in place, turning to Drift.  “Yes!  Alright, I’ll call you.  Or you can call me.  I dunno, Master and Ratchet have each other’s number so someone will call someone,” he rambled.

Drift’s own smile returned looking at it, feeling lighter the more Rodimus rambled.  He finally stopped the words by taking Rodimus’s hand.  He didn’t know why he felt it was what he needed to do, but it felt right.  “I look forward to it, Rodimus,” he assured the other pet.

Rodimus tilted his helm to the side, simply looking beside himself with joy.  Drift didn’t remember the last time he was able to bring that kind of happiness to someone simply by promising to see them again.

They gathered at the door, Rodimus looking between them with his bright grin.  “Thanks for letting me come over.  This wasn’t long, but… it was fun!  I really do hope we can come back.  I know… I mean, I understand if Drift doesn’t want to come to the palace.”

Drift jolted in surprise, looking at Ratchet.  He thought Ratchet told the red and orange mech what was going on, but… no, when Drift looked at him, the medic looked as confused as he was.  He could read the same question being returned in Ratchet’s optics, and Drift simply shook his helm.  They both finally looked back to the pet in amazement.  “You’re welcome whenever you want, Rodimus,” Ratchet surprised Drift once again by saying.  “Though less conspicuous transport would be appreciated.”

Drift looked past the pair to their personal transport.  The sleek black and purple vehicle was certainly… noticeable.  The neighbors were all gathered outside, pointing, staring, and taking pictures of it.

“I will see what I can do,” Megatron smirked.  He then attached a leash to Rodimus’s collar and led him out, the pet turning and waving to them one last time.

Drift waved back, though a wave of nausea seemed to hit him as he watched the cheerful, young mech was treated like a mechanimal instead of a person.  This was the crux of what was wrong with the system.  No matter how happy Rodimus seemed to be with Megatron, the fact of the matter was he wasn’t a person right now.  He was property.  And that was… so _wrong_.  It was completely backward to what they even fought for in the Decepticons.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Ratchet’s vocals interrupted his thoughts as he closed the door.  “You don’t have to pretend to be okay now.”

Drift looked at him, confused at first.  Then he realized what he meant.  “I wasn’t pretending, Ratchet,” he chuckled.  “I was… happy being with Rodimus for a while.  I want him to come back again.  I want to teach him more about how to use the swords.”

Ratchet searched him for a moment before realizing, “You're honest.  You really felt more at ease with him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, he’s…” Drift searched for the right words.  “Special.  He’s someone I feel like I was supposed to meet.”

The red and white medic looked surprised but then relaxed.  He smiled just a bit.  “Another victim, indeed,” he said lightly, chuckling and shaking his helm.

“Hmm?” Drift made a confused sound.

“Never mind.  Come on, let’s go refuel.  You’ve earned it, kid.”


End file.
